“No one will ever love you.” Those are the words that I heard repeatedly
from the age of about ten until, well….last week. No wait, ‘til just now. I can still hear her plain as day; as if she
stood right here in front of me now.
It’s the voice of my mom; my adoptive mom. Cold, direct and to the point and I believed
her. And why shouldn't I have. It seemed a reasonable truth. Step back a few
years to where I started my life. There
I was a seven pound, six once baby girl.
Karen Eileen Swearingen. Child
number six for Norman and Mary Swearingen, four boys and two girls. I remember very little about Mary and Norman;
I don’t think he saw me but once until I was grown. When I was two Mary lost custody of us. She liked to drink and keep the company of
about any guy available. I guess that
was more important than us, her kids.
She actually had several more kids, but just randomly gave them
away. I was told she named some of them
the same name because she knew she wouldn't keep them. On his death bed, Norman bragged of fathering
over forty kids. My sister and I went
together into foster care while the boys went there separately. We went to live on a dairy farm. This quite possibly was the only positive
part of my first seven years of life. It
was days filled with Beanie and Cecil cartoons, fluffy kittens and cups of warm
milk fresh from the cow. And oh how I
loved the barn; the smell of the hay and cows; it was my happy place. I never knew why, but a car drove up one day
and took us away. Off we went to a new
foster home. We were scared but
together. What we found was a whole new
world filled with hunger, beatings and constant fear. This was where I learned not to cry. I’d just bite my lip. I wouldn't show him he hurt me. My lip would be bloody, but I showed
him. He didn't hurt me, right? Sometimes even now when I am upset…I still
bite my lip, but it doesn't stop the tears anymore. We crawled on our bellies in the bean field
behind the house to sneak beans. There
we would stretch out flat so as not to be seen while we hurriedly ate a few
beans before sneaking back out. One day
we took their chicken bones out of the garbage and ate them only to be caught
and beat for stealing. Occasionally to
this day, I find myself still holding food in my mouth until it is soggy like
we did back then. We did that so we
wouldn't get a belt or electrical cord stinging across our bodies for crunching
our food. There were the beatings for
good grades and awards I’d earned at school.
And I never understood why they thought it was fun to stick me with pins
or let their son use me as a target to throw rocks at. And there were the sickening sounds behind
his bedroom door followed by his belt flying in an angry rage when I knocked
wanting my sister out of there. Somehow
my sister knew a few bible verses that she would repeat. She said they helped her feel better. I just thought she had gone totally
nuts. Then one day a car drove up again,
only this time they took me away and I was alone, lone and scared. Off I went to Bethany Home; an orphanage; a
home for unwanted children. So see,
yeah, her words seemed reasonable. But wait, we aren't to her quite yet. I stood wearing the only set of clothes I
had, clutching a couple of small empty Beanie and Cecil suitcases and a thread
bare monkey with chewed up hands and feet.
I was an underweight, petite girl with a mess of tangled hair, crooked
teeth and sick. Always sick. So there I stood alone and scared, but there
were no belts, no cords and they had ice cream and I even got to have some and
well, they talked to me, like I was a person.
He was just out of seminary and waiting for a church position. She was so nice, waiting for their own child
to be born. I stayed with them most of
the time because I was sick. They were
different, they smiled and laughed. I
didn't know it then, but I saw Jesus in them.
I didn't know what it was, but I felt it through them. Shortly after I got there Jim and Shirley
Otis took me home with them and adopted me.
They saw my chopped hair, crooked teeth and how I was sick a lot but
they still took me home and gave me their name.
I became Karen Elizabeth Otis and I had a family. Seven years old and I got my own real
family. I had a dad and mom, brothers,
aunts, uncles, cousins…I had it all. My
dad was an industrial engineer and the president of a large company, my mom was
a stay at home mom. I saw Jesus in my
dad and we loved each other instantly. I
worshiped the ground he walked on. I put
him on a pedestal that he never fell off of.
To this day, I can envision the way his face would light up when I
walked into the room. But, I was so
scared God would take him from me. I
pleaded with God everyday not to let him die.
Just in case God didn't come through, I shoveled snow as it fell and
raked leaves and mowed grass so he didn't have to. I didn't want him to have a heart attack and
leave me alone again. I went everywhere
I could with him. Weekends and holidays,
I went to work with him. On weekends for
a long time I would fly with him in his plane.
The sailboat scared me, but on Sunday’s I went with him anyway, just in
case. I guess I figured if he went I was
going with him. I even went to church
with him. Not cause I liked God, but
because I didn't want my dad to go alone.
I would sit there in church and wonder why God hated me. What did a two year old do that caused her
mom to leave her? What did I do wrong to
have to leave the farm? Why did those
other people hate me so much that they beat me and more importantly why did God
let them? I didn't get it. But I went to be with my dad and somewhere in
my mind I wondered why God brought me to my adoptive home? How did I get so lucky? After all, God never seemed to care about me
before. My dad taught me a lot. He was and is my hero. God didn't take him from me. Not until he was old and tired and in need
rest, I didn't like it, but I let him go.
My mom on the other hand was different, she was bitter, angry and
mean. She was sick. She would look at me and tell me it was my
fault she got sick. That she wasn't sick
until they adopted me, that I caused it.
Then she would look at me and say if she would have known what I would
be like she never would have adopted me.
She would tell me no one will ever love you, that I didn't deserve to be
loved. Deep inside I knew she was
right. After all, wasn't that why my biological
mom left me, why the people at the farm got rid of me, why the others beat me
and why God let them all do it? I knew
they didn't love me and I knew God didn't either. I never did settle things with my mom; she
was too filled with bitterness for everyone and everything. I don’t feel guilty anymore either. I do however, still hear her words. All I wanted was to be loved and love
back. As I grew older I tried to prove
her wrong or maybe I was trying to prove her right. I tried a few drugs and drank a little, slept
with a couple guys. I used people like
they had always used me. But I knew I
was empty inside. The guys I chose to be
with were not nice. Later, I learned
that abused children often look for abusive relationships because it is what
they know. It was wrong, but there was a
comfort in the pain and it was what I knew.
Today, I still sometimes find myself sometimes dating a person who
doesn't respect me and treat me kind and I still try to earn the never
achievable approval. Only now I see it
and stop it. I was on a road of self-destruction. That is what I believed I deserved and I
would hurt myself before I would let someone else. I stumbled through one abusive relationship
after another and failed marriages.
Somewhere there I met a Sue. Sue
was different. Sue was well mannered,
had a beautiful home in a very prestigious neighborhood and she talked to
me. She was kind to me. I looked at her and I saw something in her
face. Something I had only seen a couple
of times before, but never knew what it was.
But I wanted that. Because of her
friendship I accepted Christ and my life started to change. But I still didn't let go of the God that I
thought hated me. Every bad thing that
happened….. I blamed God. I also forgot
to thank him for the blessings I did have; like my seven children; after being
told I would never have kids. I got a
better over the years. I studied the
bible and prayed and taught Sunday school, but I still thought God hated
me. I knew he loved people and forgave
people, but I didn't believe it included me.
It took about 26 years; after accepting Christ; of study, church,
Christian music, people and the rock bottom pit of my life to get me to the
point that I could accept God’s love for me.
It took someone who loved me. He
would come up to me and ask me to just to put my arms around him and hold him. His hands would cradle my face and he would
tell me I was beautiful and to him I was.
He promised me one night as we walked together that he would never leave
me. I knew he meant it. He honestly loved me. Twelve hours later, he left me. He died in a car accident on his way to
work. I didn't think I could breathe
when I heard, I didn't want to breathe.
I wanted to die right then and there.
I even thought of ways I could die.
I walked through life, but I knew I was really dead. I shut myself in my own little bubble of
anger and shut everyone out. I kept God
in that bubble though, not for comfort or relationship but cause I had had
enough and I wanted to take it out on Him.
Then one day, I tried to walk the path my friend and I use to walk and I
let go. I cried out loud and while tears
ran down my face I screamed at God. I
cussed at him. I told him he needed to
pull his head out of his backside and think about what he was doing for
once. Only I wasn't quite that nice
about it. Something happened that day
though. I started to let go of the anger
and let God back in. He forgave me and I
let him and I started to heal. Now, I
don’t suggest cussing God out, mind you.
Frankly, I didn't care if he struck me dead with a lightning bolt at
that point and maybe I was hoping he would.
But he didn't and I am so grateful.
Right after that a friend gave me a copy of the book “The Shack” to read
and that was the final turning point. It
helped me to see a God of love not some mean angry God. I read it and reread it. It said that God not only knew I would fail
and how many times I would fail, but He still loved me. He wanted I relationship with me. And for once I believed. It still took time, but God worked in me. He is still working in me. I have had a hard few months with the end of
a unhealthy relationship, the loss of a job I loved, unemployment denials, a
severe latex allergy reaction that caused me to miss a month of work and I
still suffer from it, things breaking in my house, I wash dishes in my bathtub
because I have no water in my kitchen, cupboards growing low on food, disconnect
notices for power and water, no money for a car payment and soon the
house. Is there stress, you bet, I am
human. But, not once have I blamed God
or thought it was because he hates me.
Now we have constant communication through the day. If I feel overwhelmed, I talk to my God and
he hears and sends me scripture to comfort me and friends to encourage me. When I lay down at night alone, wishing I had
someone who loved me again, to be there with me, I talk to him and ask him to
hold me and he does. If I lose it all, I
still have him. If I never have a
husband to love and love me again, he will be there loving me. I trust that he knows what I need and what
the desires of my heart are for love and I trust he will provide. Did you hear that…I trust! Because he loves me, I am called to love
people. Not just the ones I like, but
everyone. The ones that bruised me, that
walked out on me, that bloodied my lip or body, lied about me…the list goes
on. I am called to forgive, to extend
the same gift of grace that God gives me.
Not because I deserve it. I
don’t. I am the worst of sinners. I’m the one that wove his crown of thorns
with my lies, deceit and hatred. I’m the
one with the mallet angrily driving the nails in his wrist. I stood at his cross mocking his words,
mocking him. And still he hung there for
me. And he hangs there for you. And he loves us, enough to die for us. Well, I had no choice in how my life
started, but I have a choice on how it will end. And so do you. I choose to live and one day die in a
relationship with Christ. I choose to
love even when I don’t see it, even when I don’t feel it in return, because I
have it in Christ. You too can choose a
life with boundaries, but not walls. A
life that will still have failures, but forgiveness and love and all you have
to do, just like I did…. is accept it.
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